Master of the Gates
by cold wynd
Summary: A new dark necromancer has appeared in the Old Kingdom, and by waking the Abhorsens greatest enemies, and by closing the Realm of Death, plans to conquer the Old Kingdom and Anclestierre and destroy the Wall.rnCHAPTER THREE COMING SOOOOOOOOOOON! REVIEWW!
1. Mirror Broken

These Characters DO NOT belong to me obviously . They belong to the greater God that is Garth Nix.

Deep within the confines of Abhorsen's house, in a secret and ancient room protected by both Charter and Free magic, a large glass-topped coffin stood on a rowan table. Inside the coffin laid a body of a man, with brown hair and a pale white face. The body of Rogir, son of the Queen and brother of King Touchstone I, and murderer of the Royal Bloodline and Breaker of the Charter Stones of the Old Kingdom. He had risen to the dark powers of Free Magic almost fifty years ago, only to be thwarted and cast down by the Abhorsen, Sabriel, and forced into an eternal sleep by Ranna, the smallest of the necromancer's bells.

Rogir stirred. Opening one of his eyes, he scanned his Charter-endowed prison. A grin grew on his face, and he quickly muttered an incantation and twisted his hands into a spell-casting position. The glass above him vanished, and he sat up. Shaking off the dust layered upon his clothes, he cast another spell, one to destroy the spells that imprisoned him. He laughed.

"Beware, Abhorsen. Kerrigor has risen again, and he is not likely to forgive!"

Swinging his legs over the side of the coffin, he motioned to the door, blowing it open with a blast of Free Magic. Suddenly, he stumbled, and his eyes rolled wildly around. He gasped and struggled to breath. A new voice sounded in the stale air.

"Kerrigor has arisen, but he serves me, the Master of the Gates. Obey me now, Kerrigor, and slay the Abhorsen!"

Kerrigor's breathing returned to normal.

"Yes," he muttered, "slay the Abhorsen, and obey the master."

He stalked out the door. On his head shined a mark, formed of fire. The Mark of the Master of the Gates.

Lirael stood in a dark river, the cold, black water running around her. The currents tugged at her heels, beckoning her to let them drag her into an eternal sleep. For Lirael stood in Death, and the river was the passage of the dead. In her hands she held a small, black mirror, called the Dark Mirror, which she had discovered in a cave deep below her birthplace in the Clayr's Glacier. The Mirror was a gateway to the past, letting her See the history of the Old Kingdom. With one hand, she drew a small knife, cutting her self and letting a drop of blood roll onto the black surface of the mirror. Lirael smiled. Now she would be able to see the making of the Royal Palace, so she could advise Sameth, her nephew, on a way to repair the palace's water systems, which had been not working for the past few weeks. She concentrated on the mirror with one eye, using the other to search for movement or a Dead creature. But the mirror stayed blank. Confused, Lirael released her focus. A burst of pain entered her head as an image of a large, shadow being formed on her mirror.

"ABHORSEN!" the voice boomed. "Heed my call. For centuries, your Blood has entered Death to return the Dead to rest!" The shadow figure stood up, and as the mirror showed the full body of the Shadow, Lirael could see the stars of the 9th Gate behind him.

"Who are you?" she called out.

"I am the Master of the Gates. The Realm of the Dead no longer welcomes you, Abhorsen. If you encroach onto my kingdom again, my minions will destroy you!"

As he said this, Lirael could see hundreds of distorted bodies rising up from the river around her, much too many Dead to bind with Saraneth or walk with Kibeth. Suddenly a form in the shape of a dog rose up from the water.

"Run, Lirael, run!" it cried.

Lirael stopped in shock, for the dog body was in fact her first and best friend when she had been among the Clayr in their glacier. The dog, known as the Disreputable Dog, was in fact one of the Great Seven, Kibeth, who created the orderly form of Free Magic, known as the Charter. But common sense prevailed, and Lirael spun around and dashed for the opening back to Life.

Sameth was knocking on the door of Lirael's room when he heard a crack and heavy breathing. Rushing into the room, he helped his ice-coated aunt to a seat.

"What happened?" he questioned.

Lirael breathed deeply, but just as she was about to speak, something fell out of her hand and broke on the ground. Lirael looked down and gasped in horror.

"My Mirror! The Dark Mirror broke!"

Sam bent over to pick up the piece of black glass on the floor and then inspected the Mirror itself.

"Let's take this up to my work shop to see what I can do, Aunt."

Lirael nodded in agreement and trudged after Sam to his workshop.


	2. Nehima's Destruction

At his workshop, Sam was busy trying to piece together Lirael's broken Mirror.

"It's no use, Aunt," he explained. "The Mirror is made of Free Magic, but it is tempered an held in check by powerful Charter Marks, several in fact, that could only be made with multiple Master Marks. The spell is so complex it would take 6 months of hard study just to determine what marks are there!"

Lirael sighed.

"At least nothing else broke," she said.

Sam nodded in agreement, glanced at Nehima, Lirael's sword, turned back to his worktable. Suddenly he glanced up.

"Draw Nehima!" he said, a scared tone in his voice.

Lirael looked at him strangely, and then obeyed.

She gazed at her sword when she drew it, then looked at Sam oddly.

"Something is different about Nehima, Sam..." she implored.

Sam looked at the blade, his face pale.

"There is definitely something different. The marks I put on the blade to bind the Destroyer have been drained...of their power."

Lirael looked at the blade and realized that of the Charter Marks, only a few were shifting.

"You're right, Sam! But what..."

Then Lirael noticed a new mark on the blade. She inspected it closely, and the mark seemed to shine and burn, giving off heat like fire. Then she instantly knew.

"This is the work of the Master of the Gates," she whispered.

Sam was confused.

"Who? I know of no Master of the Gates. But you speak of him like he is an ill omen, or a Dead creature...is he?"

Lirael dropped the blade on the floor, her hands sketching Charter Marks into the air quickly as she spoke.

"He is the one who broke my Mirror, Sam. Before you came into my room, I was in Death, using the Mirror to see how to fix the water pipes. But the Mirror failed, and I saw a huge shadow form. It commanded me to leave Death and said its minions, the Dead, would destroy any Abhorsen who came into Death again. And now he has gone and destroyed Nehima too!"

Lirael made a final, bold, decisive motion in the air and a light blue bubble appeared around the sword. She sighed.

"That should keep the sword safe and the Free Magic in. It's the strongest protection I have, anyways," she said.

Sam gazed at the blade on the ground.

"I can make you a new blade, Aunt," he said, trying to cheer her up.

"I would appreciate that, Sam," she answered back.

But then she thought to herself, _but it won't be the same._

Sabriel scanned the land over the edge of her blue and silver Paperwing. She whistled the Charter sound to lower the Paperwing, and landed on the extended platform that had appeared in front of her. She sighed. The Paperwing had served her for over two decades now, but the Charter Marks holding the craft together were wearing out, and soon she would have to obtain a new Paperwing from the Clayr. Hopping out of the craft, she looked up to take in the full view of the large house the landing platform extended out of. The Abhorsen's House. She had first come here while escaping Kerrigor and a Mordicant, a powerful Dead creature that had hunted her. Sabriel through the paths and to the front door of the house. She paused and reached into the Charter. The House itself was a Charter Stone, because so many Charter spells had been utilized in the building when the first Abhorsen discovered the inlet. Opening the door, she stepped inside and was blasted by the corrosive smell of Free Magic and the cold feeling of Death.

I know this story is a bit weird, but review, plz.


End file.
